Re: Shiloh & Kit: the B&B sitting room
Kit was only halfway to awake. He had the rather unpleasant sensation of coming awake all at once as memory coagulated along with the clots of instant coffee in his mug and he swallowed hard on bitter black brew and pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. It would have been lying to say he didn't recall Shiloh in various states.
He did: but he also recollected doing rather more in the way of talking than he had with many of his other patients. Proximity, and longevity and well, sheer humanity. Kit had never had much faith in the rules the prison liked to introduce in a medical setting. He wasn't a challenger, he didn't square up to injustices because the unjust generally failed to be persuadable. He simply neatly avoided any suggestion of remaining a removed, unemotional presence with a white coat and the threat of reporting back to superiors.
But yes. The very wide, very unmissable sprawl. Shiloh wore pink pants. Kit wasn't even sure if the pants had been sold in a pink state or whether Shiloh had made them thus. He blinked obediently along the sight-line of Shiloh's gesture toward the B&B table. Kit glanced from buffet to man. "I see. We're having breakfast. I can barely manage pouring coffee at this hour, if you want something you'd better help yourself." He put the disgracefully bad cup of coffee down on the table Shiloh was sprawling at, and rubbed a hand over the length of his face.
"How many mornings?" Kit had predicted perfectly that Shiloh's intention was to run into him. There wasn't really an awful lot of intelligence in it. What he had also predicted was that Shiloh would have repeated the exercise if it hadn't been fruitful.